Learnset
by Head Honchkrow
Summary: Training Pokémon is a complicated, highly involved task. As a veteran trainer, Alexander knows this better than most. Compared with teaching the process to a greenhorn? It's a walk in the park.
1. Chapter 1 - Bar & Battle

So, in 'celebration' of me getting back into writing this, I decided to put this on . Please note that there's additional formatting which can't be displayed here. If you want to see the version with alternate fonts/colours, search up Learnset on Spacebattles (the inability to link is irritating).

Anyway, please enjoy the story.

 **Chapter 1: Bar & Battle**

Routine's a powerful force. Once something becomes a habit, it's easy to become trapped, continually choosing an objectively lesser path without even examining one's other options. Working a soul crushing desk job comes to mind. Even on a micro level, getting a pokémon into a mental routine's just as important as muscle memory when it comes to practising most attacks. Routine can compel individuals to do many things, both great and terrible.

In this case, it compelled me to continue eating dinner at the Kadabra's Spoon night after night, long after my primary motivations to do so had expired. Perhaps not the most impressive thing it had ever accomplished, but nevertheless. That isn't to say the place was inadequate, far from it. In fact, 'adequate' was probably the word that described it best. Neither expensive nor distasteful nor inconvenient. Just... Nothing special, especially for me. It was a pub, first and foremost, but I didn't drink. Could never stand the taste of beer or wine, really. The secondary attraction, after the promise of alcohol, of course, was that it was a licensed 'professional venue', which mostly meant that gambling on the matches was legal and handled by the establishment, as opposed to done under the table. Not the most glamorous way to make a living on either side of plexiglass, but an easy method to keep yourself afloat if you knew the 'game'.

I lost myself in nostalgia for a moment, pausing outside the door, as nights spent bilking the inexperienced and overconfident came rolling back. Perhaps there was a twinge of shame, buried under the wave of wistfulness, at the somewhat...Unethical nature of what I used to do, but if there was, it was no more than that. Most of the people I took to the cleaners were that special mix of arrogant, surly and stupid that was usually associated with the stereotype of "Pub Brawler".

The Kadabra's Spoon had been one of the places I'd first made a 'name' for myself and it still brought back old memories.

Still, nowadays, the existence of such an arena was more an annoyance than anything else. I had to eat with my back turned to the battle. Otherwise...It was like looking over the shoulder of someone of below average intelligence doing the newspaper crossword. In the same way there's that instinct to yell the answers at them and berate them for being so slow (don't tell me you've never felt like that at some point), watching for any length of time roused a niggling desire to walk over and give both parties some pointers, or maybe even start micro-managing, when it got really bad.

...It may have nearly gotten my nose broken at one point when I was unable to resist. Thankfully, Jim, the bartender and owner, stepped in and stopped me getting my head caved in.

It wasn't as if the place had an especially comfortable atmosphere either. Unlike most older bars, The Kadabra's Spoon had always been intended to have a battle arena as well, as opposed to the usual hasty installation, inevitably the result of an owner far too willing to sample his own stock. As a result, the place was all stonework and metal to ensure it didn't burn down, rather than the more traditional wooden floors I'd seen in many places like it. Of course, nowadays, health and safety required the arena to be enclosed to prevent errant attacks going off into the crowd, so most of those measures were obsolete. As a result, it didn't typically attract the gregarious type, nor those out on the town for a good time. Really, there were only two types of people who frequented the place on a regular basis. Battlers and punters. Nowadays, I didn't really fit into either-

"Oi, Alex, stop blockin' the door an' take a seat, will ya? Yer lettin' the cold in!"

I was rather rudely returned to the immediate present by the establishment's 'gracious host'. Of course, my umbrage didn't stop me from following the advice. It was good advice. As usual, I sat myself next to the counter, though far enough away from the taps that I didn't get in the way of the hard core drinkers.

"Yer usual, Alex?"

"Much appreciated, Jim."

Jim motioned to the girl at the bain-marie, who scooped out a plate of pasta and passed it over. I started on it with my usual gusto. Even as focused as I was on my dinner, it wasn't hard for me to discern that Jim wasn't quite his usual jovial self. His smile, normally sincere and just the slightest bit goofy, was stiff and forced. Between bites, I decided to probe lightly.

"So, how's the day been?"

Jim's gaze wandered over somewhere behind me as I took another mouthful of Boscaiola. His expression soured.

"S'been alright."

Restricted as I was by the food in my mouth, I gave him an inquisitive look in lieu of asking him directly. He exuded a long suffering sigh.

"Some chit's been tearin' up the arena."

I made the 'go on' motion with my free hand.

"She's been 'ere all day an' she ain't lost once, even though she ain't that good. Been pissin' off the crowd somethin' fierce. Bein' a real brat about it too."

I gave him the most unimpressed look I could muster, before swallowing.

"Not exactly the first time it's happened, Jim."

Jim shifted uncomfortably, stumbling over how he wanted to start his response.

"...It's not the same. It-Y'know. You ain't got the same definition of 'not that good' an' everyone knew you were showboatin' an' it weren't like you were pissin' off the _crowd_ , just the guy across from you. This girl... She's just missin' the chain mail an' red hair, if y'know what I mean."

I finished another couple of bites of pasta as a certain mental image came to mind.

"She can't be that bad-"

 _Which is to say, 'She can't be that stupid'._

"-I mean... So you're saying she has certain views on pokémon rights? Doesn't make her automatically a Plasma sympathiser."

He gave me a flat, unamused look.

"Y'know, she's fightin' right behind ya. You could just take a look yerself."

It was pretty obvious who he was talking about. The girl wasn't exactly the most difficult to identify. The splash of long, nearly neon pink hair was impossible to miss against the dirty brick backdrop of the arena wall. Jeans, a t-shirt and jacket; not entirely unusual for a trainer, though most probably not a local. If she was, she'd probably have the sense to wear something heavier. Driftveil evenings were most definitely not 't-shirt and jeans' weather, especially around this time of year. Light clothes were consistent with a trainer who had travelled directly from Nimbasa. They erred mostly on the 'clean side' of the spectrum for a trainer, which could mean a number of things. She might have been especially wealthy and could afford someone to deal with that kind of thing (unlikely, if she was visiting a place like this), she might've been new and simply hadn't had enough time on the road for her clothes to show it that heavily (unlikely, if she was winning so handily) or she might have just been an especially heavy neat freak. Or she might have just bought a new set of clothes. I set that train of thought aside as unproductive. Around average-ish height, maybe a little on the short side. I put her around... Maybe fourteen. She might have been older, but her figure and general apparel implied a certain youth and made accuracy difficult. Her stance was... Intense, but without purpose. 'Wound-up' probably described it better. Not the focused stare of someone gauging their opponent's pokémon, but like that of an especially avid fan watching her favourite sports team match evenly with an old rival. Both trainers were yelling something, but the murmur of the crowd, the distance and the plastic barrier made it too indistinct to tell what they were saying.

Her opponent was Tom...Tom Jenkins, if memory serves. I had seen him take the floor a number of times and I hadn't been impressed. I believe I was once told he worked on a construction site, usually. I could believe that, considering his pokémons' poor technique and his reliance on direct command. If one made the assumption he used his pokémon as part of his job, the pieces came together nicely.

Okay, so I wasn't very good at resisting the urge to watch. Morbid curiosity is a normal, human trait.

The Magmar on the field was Tom's, so the Absol had to be the girl's. Absol never came very far east, so I guessed she might have come through from Undella... Or she might have come here by ship. She looked a little foreign. Skin was a little lighter than your average Unovan, but she might've been from the southern parts of the region.

Again and again, the Absol threw Night Slash after Night Slash at the Magmar, keeping the fire type off balance. It really should only have needed one, but its technique was sorely lacking. A good swipe across the chest would've ended the battle there and then, but the Absol wasn't getting anything more than scratches and flesh wounds; striking at its target, rather than through. They'd sting, maybe bleed a little, but that would be it. Still, the fight was well in the grasp of the unknown trainer. Her pokémon's technique was sloppy, but at least it was making attacks. The Magmar was just letting itself get pushed around, unable to keep its bearings.

 _Ugh, no, why- That's not how you use Night Sl- No, you're meant to close,_ _ **then**_ _charge the bla-You bleed energy by doing that; stop doing that. If you're going to keep striking, you charge it at the start of your swing and cut it at the end-_

A slightly more solid hit sent the Magmar reeling, but rather than going in for the kill, the Absol fell back, glaring at her opponent angrily.

 ** _NO_** _, that is_ _ **NOT**_ _where you're meant to disengage, you keep pressing. You obviously aren't tired, so why on_ _ **earth**_ _would you stop pressuring because your opponent_ _ **fell over**_ _. Why? Are you trying to let him get back into this_

Tom yelled something as the Magmar found its feet again, and the pokémon covered its fists in a veil of fire before lumbering back into the fray.

 _Ugh, why Tom? I knew you were bad, but that's just_ _ **stupid**_ _. And bad training. Your pokémon just spent the last twenty seconds being used as a punching bag and you want it to go_ _ **back**_ _into melee range ?_

As usual, Tom hadn't identified his 'win condition' properly. An old and common problem that far too many trainers had. Hadn't accounted for his opponent's strengths and weaknesses. Or his own pokémon's, for that matter. The girl's was a little less immediately apparent. Managing to stop picking apart her pokémon's immediate mistakes for a moment and look what they meant in context, I started to put a couple of things together. Whilst in a battle, the pause and posturing was ridiculous, it would make sense in a 'protecting your territory/dissuading attackers' sense. Lack of proper technique corroborated the idea that it'd been barely trained at all, or trained especially poorly. Superfluous instincts were typically one of the first things to be dropped during effective training. I watched it continue to trade with the Magmar, easily evading its opponent's clumsy strikes. As a species, mid-range combat was Magmar's forte; it had neither the durability nor speed to enter the melee with a dedicated close quarters specialist like Absol, even if there hadn't been a disparity in condition and experience between the two. The fact that it seemed the Absol was the stronger individual made the decision all the more foolish.

"Only twen'y seconds o' watchin' her and she's already got ya grindin' yer teeth in rage."

I looked back at Jim, giving him a 'smile' that lacked any kind of amusement.

"Har de har har. Can't tell much about her, but she looks pretty green."

"Ha! 'Green' ain't got the same meanin' when yer the one tossin' it 'round, Alex. 'Green' can mean guys who've been trainin' for longer than you've been alive for you."

I put on my best arrogant smirk.

"I just call it like I see it, Jim."

We traded amused looks as the match drew to a close. It continued as it had, until the fire type had eventually just collapsed from exhaustion and pain. Not a clean way to end a fight by any means, but a common enough one nonetheless. For a couple of minutes, I was allowed some peace to continue with my dinner, before a poorly suppressed groan from Jim drew my attention again. His expression had soured, as his gaze focused on something behind me. I looked over my shoulder to find the girl approaching the bar. I kept my expression a neutral smile as she took a seat in front of Jim.

"That's another hundred for me, right?"

Jim grumbled as he passed over the money. She passed him her pokémon for healing and sat waiting at the bar. Since he seemed too irritated to do so, I decided to do the courteous thing, keeping my tone polite as I often did with strangers.

"Congratulations on your win, Miss."

She turned, her expression an excited grin tinged with a smugness born off the victory high, assumedly. She might've been naturally smug, but I doubted.

"Thanks! Their pokémon were pretty strong, but they weren't enough to take us down."

A patently untrue statement, if I'd ever heard one. I didn't let my irritation at it, nor at her enthusiasm show. Some people were just naturally like that.

"So, I'm curious. Did you come through Undella on your way here?"

She blinked twice.

"Uh...No? I came by boat. I arrived in the harbour today. There was a- a mix up."

After a moment, I was able to place her slight accent.

"Ah, then I suppose you're from Hoenn. You got here from Lilycove, then?"

She nodded.

"Yeah, I got on the wrong boat. I was gonna go to Mossdeep, but ended up here instead. I'm here, making enough to get a ticket back."

I was immediately sceptical of her story. The only ships that went this way were the freighters and most docked in Castelia anyway. I was pretty sure they didn't even leave from the same docks. Still, I kept my opinion to myself. If she didn't want to say the actual reason, she could keep her secrets for now. I rather wanted to figure it out myself anyway. This was getting interesting.

"Well, unfortunately, Miss, you'll find that getting a ticket from here to Lilycove is a little difficult. If you want to go back that way, you'll want to either head over to the port in Castelia, or take a plane from Mistralton."

She frowned, as she considered this information for a few moments, before brightening up.

"Thanks...Uh... Who are you again?"

 _Feh. What are you doing, Midnight? Remember etiquette. Introductions are important and the person initiating a conversation should introduce themselves first._

I offered a hand.

"That was awfully impolite of me. My name is Alexander. Pleased to meet your acquaintance."

A moment of hesitation, before she accepted the handshake. As usual, I just had to hope I wasn't being creepy.

"I'm Sammy. Nice to meet you too."

A slight nod of my head indicated my acknowledgement of this. Considering her apparent reluctance to speak of how she had found her way to Driftveil, I decided to turn the conversation back towards her latest battle.

"So then, may I assume you aren't particularly well acquainted with Magmar and the way it fights?"

"I still won, like, really easily. Why does it matter?"

I tried to keep the lecturing tone out of my voice. I really did.

"Still, you could probably have done so more efficiently. You could probably have taken better advantage of your match-up."

She rolled her eyes.

"Magmar's a fire type and my Eclipse is a dark type. They don't have any kind of advantage over each other.

 _Wait, what?_

"That's not what I m-"

She ran over my attempts to clarify. Stunned by her ignorance, I just let her do so.

"And besides, I don't think about that kind of thing. It doesn't matter who I send my pokémon out against. Eclipse always crushes fighting types and bugs, and that proves it. It's not what the pokémon is, it's who they are!"

All thoughts of figuring out what her deal was were dropped. My mouth froze half open for a moment, whilst my brain doubled checked the information my ears had just provided it. For a moment, my brain considered the possibility that the girl had stepped out of a cartoon.

"My apologies, could you please repeat what you just said? I must have misheard you."

She gave me an infuriatingly self-satisfied grin, as, as if she were doling out some grand wisdom to a greenhorn fresh out of trainer's school. Like she was doing me a favour by telling me this.

"Me and my pokémon can take on anyone, regardless of what they send out!"

 _That wasn't repeating, but..._

The only sign of my incredulousness was a slight narrowing of my eyes. I asked a leading question to confirm my suspicions.

"Oh, so I suppose that means you're one of those trainers who are completely reliant on heavy training and out-muscling your opponent then?"

As I expected, she recoiled almost as if she'd been slapped. Or I'd insulted her mother.

"Of course not! I don't torture my pokémon. Pokémon are at their best when you treat them with care and respect. Our strength comes from the bond between me and my pokémon. Training only hurts them."

It was at this point that things could've easily gone a different way. Typically, I like to think I'm a fairly diplomatic person. If I think someone is wrong, I smile and let them continue being wrong. I spent three years keeping my nose out of business of other trainers; I know what happens when egos clash. Even when I speak up, I try to play nice and avoid rocking the boat. This time, however, I was caught completely off guard.

"Are you serious, scrub?"

And this time, I just had to open my big mouth.

The girl fixed me with a pointed look.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Don't worry ab-"

Mirth danced in his eyes as Jim rudely interrupted my back-pedalling.

"He called ya a scrub. It's pro-trainer speak fer 'yer crap and have no hope of bein' good'."

I instantly swivelled to face Jim, my expression some unhappy medium between annoyed and embarrassed.

"That's not exactly the dictionary definition, Jim."

Jim remained silently grinning. Our eyes met for a split second, before I turned back to the girl. I considered trying to explain further, but it was quite clear the damage had already been done. She was pretty mad.

"You think I'm a weak trainer? I've battled fifteen trainers today and I haven't lost once. How's that for weak?"

 _Whoop de doo._

At this point, hiding my disdain was rather pointless, so I decided to be candid. I raised a singular, unimpressed eyebrow.

"...And?"

She gagged on whatever she was about to say, apparently unprepared for my dismissal. I pressed further before she could respond.

"Before you go on, you're probably very good for your age. You just aren't exactly winning any awards for beating anyone here. Most of the regulars have proper day jobs."

She appeared unappeased. Actually, it looked like that had only made her angrier. It only occurred to me a second later just how condescending that sounded. In hindsight, I should've seen her next line coming from a mile away.

"Alright then, if you're going to talk like that, back it up! Put a hundred down and I'll prove that you're worse than a 'Scrub'."

A bark of laughter escaped me. Here she was, glaring angrily, attempting to get me into the arena over a measly hundred dollars. A trainer had to have some pride, but it was far more important to have a handle on it. Allowing it to control her like this was going to get her into trouble in the long run. Really, I was doing her a favour by educating her.

Plus, I had my own pride as well.

"My apologies, but that isn't going to happen."

She simmered for a moment, before responding.

"Just as I thought. You're nothing but-"

"If you want to face me in a 'friendly' game, that's fine. We can take it outside and I can give you some pointers, but if you want to seriously fight me, we will not be playing with chump change. If you want to challenge me to a money match, I will be willing to accept a pot of anything between a thousand and ten thousand. Otherwise, as they say, 'take a hike'."

She froze, gears turning in her head. Fifteen wins at low stakes meant it was probably most of the money she'd won over the night. Maybe all of it. Some of the battlers refused to go above the fifty dollar minimum.

"...Fine! A thousand!"

An expected, but disappointing result. I suppressed a sigh as I reached into my wallet. Calling the 'bluff' of a trainer you had no knowledge of was the kind of move that straddled brave and stupid. Hindsight would almost certainly condemn it as the latter.

"Alright. Standard Stadium Group Stage rules; six pokémon on hand of which three are chosen as the battle goes. First person to have no usable pokémon loses. No trainer interference besides orders."

She nodded, her mouth frozen in an almost indignant frown. Jim gave me a smug grin as he took both our bets and passed her pokémon back to her. He then called out to the rest of the bar.

"Alright, everyone! Alex is gonna do his thing, so all bets are off till he's done! For anyone who's new here, if someone tries to sucker you into an under the table bet against him, don't take it! This is your only warning!"

The girl didn't speak as we made our way to the arena. She looked like she was starting to have second thoughts and that announcement probably had her rattled. An unnatural hush had overtaken the room. Not silence, but a definite reduction in volume. I could guess why. Usually, I was the villain. On the rare occasion I took to the floor, the bar rallied to cheer against me, without fail (bar Jim and anyone who had some grudge against my opponent). Today, however, it was the devil they knew, up against the devil they didn't. As much as some of them probably wanted to see me beaten, they probably wanted to see this 'young upstart' taken down a peg even more.

As soon as she'd challenged me, I had decided on Pow for my starter. Whilst he probably wouldn't make as much of an impact on the girl as my other pokémon, for he was young and still in training, he needed the experience in battle. Regardless of the calibre of opponent, he still needed experience with fighting other trained pokémon who weren't going easy on him. Well, for a given value of 'trained', I supposed. I rolled his pokeball around in my fingers as I waited for her to organise her belt. It looked like she was muttering to herself, but I couldn't make out what she was saying. I called out to her.

"Whenever you're ready, miss."

She shot me an annoyed glare in response. Finally, she settled on choosing the lone great ball on her belt.

"My name's Sammy! Stop calling me 'Miss'! And I'm completely ready. Just be ready to eat your words once I'm done."

* * *

It wasn't the first night that Eclipse had been forced to fight for her dinner. Most of her kind would cede a kill to the packs. When the howling approached, most would turn tail and leave the kill, lest they be punished for 'poaching'. She didn't let herself be pushed around like that and, eventually, they learned to leave her alone. Many moons had passed since then, but she still understood the principle. Tonight, the exalted one needed to borrow her power for more than just pride and, once more, she would prove her dominance. She'd fought again and again against enemies of all colours, shapes and types. Whilst perhaps they may have presented a challenge en mass, none were worthy of a 'fair' duel. Again and again, they fell to her blade with neither struggle nor fanfare. She wanted to tell herself that the latest opponent would be no different, but something about it made her stop.

More so than any adversary she had faced before, the small, rat-like creature before her made Eclipse feel uneasy. It didn't have the sheer bulk or size of the Hariyama or ghost creature she'd faced no more than a moon cycle ago. It didn't have the ferocity or unblemished hatred of the insect that considered her its rival. It didn't try to intimidate her with displays of power, like the many wolves she'd faced before meeting her trainer. It didn't even have the strange exoticism she'd seen in many of the enemies she'd already fought that evening. In the short time she'd been with her trainer, she'd stared down all manner of foes who any _human_ would say she was destined to be beaten by; she was too weak, they had a type advantage, she wasn't trained well enough. She proved them wrong, time and time again. In the wild, she had become strong. Had to become strong. Had to learn how to fight those who were just as strong. All the same, there was something more to her latest opponent. As she awaited the word from the exalted one to begin the bout, she came to a realisation.

Staring down the rat, she had no clue what it was going to do or how powerful he was. Her eyes told her it was weak. Her mind assured her it was just another trainer's thrall. Instinct saw a small creature with paws and whiskers and reminded her of the weakness of the rats that hid amongst the tall grass; the weakness of prey. Yet, long ago, she'd found those senses to be misleading. Her triumph over the packs, when her instincts screamed at her to flee proved this. And her gut was telling her something was very wrong.

The other human said something Eclipse didn't care to listen to. The rat bowed, in a parody of human fighters, before taking a battle stance. She readied herself for the exalted one's mark, already knowing how to proceed.

"Let's go, Eclipse! Psycho Cut!"

That was the signal. She rushed forwards, already pushing energy into her horn. Long ago, she'd learned she could channel more than just her natural energy into the blade. By tapping into the same energy that she formed Future Sight with, she could strike down those who would shrug off her normal strike.

The other human called something again as she approached, but the rat remained still. As she brought her blade down, the rat shifted slightly, evading the strike by the smallest margin. She pushed forwards and swung her head back up, expecting the familiar resistance as it bit into flesh and then perhaps bone, but again, the rat flowed around the strike. Rather than continuing, she allowed the energy to dissipate and lunged forward, fangs beared, expecting her sight to aid her in pinning down the rat. Again, she missed as it ducked around the blow. Frustration building, she struck again and again, with fang and blade and claw, each more reckless than the last. She could feel the exalted one's concerned gaze on her back as her strikes continued to be evaded.

It was toying with her.

She lunged, this time as much to distance herself from her foe as to attack. Once again, her claws sailed over her target. She landed and immediately turned to watch the rat, more hesitant than she'd ever been. It made no attempt to chase her down. It just remained in place, it's fur unmarred and its breath still controlled and even. She took a moment to calm herself. It didn't help. Beneath the anger, all she had was uncertainty and doubt. Oh, she'd been pressured before. Been hurt. Been down in a fight. Even beaten, once or twice, by the lizard. But this? It was like trying to pin down sunlight or trap a breeze. Like nothing had been gained by even trying.

"Come on, Eclipse! Let's try it again. Psycho Cut!"

She wouldn't let the exalted one down. She might not have been able to land a blow, but the rat hadn't thrown a single strike either. Perhaps its entire strategy was to wear her down? Even if it was fast, she only needed a single decisive hit to finish this. Again, she rushed in, still faster than before. She put her all into this one strike.

She hadn't paid any attention to the rat's trainer before then, but his final words of the match would be etched into her mind for the rest of her life. They were neither loud, nor contemptuous, but were all the crueller for it. The words went beyond confidence or bravado; they spoke of a certainty of victory, as one might speak of the rising of the sun or the ebb and flow of the tide. Words that brooked no contradiction.

"Let's finish up, Pow. Force, Force, Break."

 ** _CRACK!_**

The first strike shattered her charge as a spike of red hot pain went right through her gut and drove the air from her lungs. She hadn't even seen the rat get inside her guard, let alone perform the attack. A second or so passed and she nearly crumpled from the hit, right there and then, but before she could even think past the pain, a second blow came to her jaw, sending her spinning. She tried to blink away the black spots that'd formed across her vision, but finally, one last unseen strike to the side of her neck robbed her of all consciousness.

* * *

The Absol skidded to a halt, the momentum imparted by Pow's Brick Break bleeding away against the concrete. It was evident that Pow needed more experience outside of drills and sparring against Dirk and Lord, since I could already see where the cracks in his form were appearing. He was playing too close to his opponent's attacks when using Detect; if an opponent put on an unexpected burst of speed, or was able to suddenly increase the size of the attack, he'd be in serious trouble. He also was far too slow when linking his attacks together. There'd been a sizable delay between each strike that hadn't manifested when he did the drills. Obviously, I'd need to put a little pressure on him when doing those. Maybe start switching up the order of attacks with his strike drills.

A moment of horror crossed my opponent's face as she watched her pokémon's swift demise. She stifled a wail, before attempting to rush over to help it. I cleared my throat.

"Ahem."

She looked up towards me, distress obvious in her eyes. I remained unmoved.

"Miss, this is a battle by stadium rules. Return your pokémon and continue, or forfeit."

She stood there for maybe twenty seconds, looking between me and her pokémon. She smothered whatever emotions she was feeling with a dose of anger at me and returned the Absol. Of the two normal reactions a new trainer had to such an event, anger was preferred over a breakdown on the spot, but neither were particularly helpful to the trainer's chances of victory.

"You'll pay for that, you-you monster!"

 _Petty insults? Really?_

"Payment will be determined by who has the last pokémon standing, Miss."

She agonised over choosing her next pokémon. A full minute passed before she finally decided on an unmarked great ball. I was tempted to prompt her after the first thirty seconds, since that would constitute stalling in a proper match, but I was feeling charitable. Not charitable enough to _not_ crush her, though.

"Okay, let's go, Flutter! We'll avenge Eclipse together!"

 _60:30:10 chances for Beautifly, Dustox and Masquerain._

My guess was validated as she threw the great ball and released her Beautifly. My senses immediately registered a couple of abnormalities in this specific individual. The slightest of rasps in its voice as it announced its name. The barest fading of the colours on the wings. Irregular wing beats.

 _Interesting._

Pow remained focused on the battle in front of him, as I expected of him.

The round was a quick, unpleasant affair, as they often were in such circumstances.

"Flutter! Use Giga Drain!"

The bug type's flight was leisurely and unhurried, but it kept at a height well above the point that Pow could jump without exposing himself to a counterattack. Unfortunately for it, I had taught Pow a couple of ways to deal with such tactics.

"No sense dragging this out, Pow. Stone Edge."

Pow's paw glowed as he slammed his fist into the concrete. Shards of stone erupted from the ground, spraying through the air. Even against an actual person, Stone Edge was liable to cause some serious cuts and scrapes. Against a weaker pokémon with a double weakness to rock, it was backbreaking. A moment of surprise passed across its face in the moment before the attack was upon it. A moment later, the Beautifly spiralled slowly to the ground, its wings shredded and eyes unfocused. It was returned without a word. I smiled absently at how far Pow had progressed with his use of Stone Edge. He'd resisted learning it at first. Thought it was a waste to learn something that was so situational and had little to no use in a duel against another fighting type. Thankfully, he hadn't protested too much. It still wasn't anywhere near the ground shattering rain of spikes that Press could produce, but it was spectacular in its own way.

I'd expected another response from my opponent, but as I took another glance at her, she was silent again, already with pokeball in hand. However, she stopped before throwing it, eyes screwed shut. Possibly on the verge of tears. Her hand reached for another pokeball and simply stood there for some time, clutching both and otherwise unmoving. There was some story going on behind this. The conflicting emotions that danced across her face were proof of that. Anger. Regret. Resignation. What it could mean, I wasn't sure.

 _What's going on inside that head of yours?_

* * *

 _VS: Well? Are you willing to end this farce, Sammy?_

Her reply was slow and reluctant, as she continued to stand there, the two pokeballs still in her hands.

 _VS: This meaningless act of rebellion... You're only hurting yourself with it. Let me help you._

Hesitantly, she returned the first to her belt.

"...Okay."

 _SM: Fine. You win._

She took a deep breath.

"You think it's fine to hurt pokémon like that? You think that we're just going to let you get away with this? I'll show just what happens to people like you!"

 _VS: Follow my lead._

She couldn't stop herself from cringing as she threw the pokeball.

"Let's go, Riolu!"

* * *

I blinked, slightly nonplussed. Her previous two pokémon had been given especially uninspired nicknames, but for her latest to have none at all... Something was up. From the defeated expression that had crossed her face just before she made her choice, my first thoughts were that this pokémon wasn't hers. That some other, stronger trainer had given it to her and this was her last resort. A quick glance at the pokémon itself didn't fill me with confidence in its ability to compete. Its stance was loose and undisciplined.

"Up for a third round, Pow?"

The Mienfoo looked over his shoulder and gave me a curt nod. I returned it in kind.

"Alright. Whenever you're ready."

"Riolu, attack it with Quick Attack and Feint!"

A word from its trainer and the Riolu was immediately upon Pow, striking out with a flurry of punches. They weren't particularly well formed and Pow was able to keep ahead of most of them, but, as I watched a glancing blow send Pow skidding back, it was obvious there was a deceptive amount of power behind them. It continued the assault, without letting the pressure up.

"U-Turn and back off, Pow!"

"Don't let up, Riolu!"

The strike incorporated into the backwards somersault allowed Pow a little breathing room for a moment, but no more, as the Riolu shrugged the strike off and continued to chase him down. Watching it move, my brain started bring up objections to what my eyes were seeing. Little discrepancies, like how it was moving slightly further than its stride, and that the strikes Pow was landing weren't displacing his opponent as far as they should have, if I only took mass into account. Things that your standard bystander wouldn't pick up. My frown deepened as Pow began to visibly tire, worn down by the relentless blows. I retrieved his ball and returned him.

"Wha-You can't-!"

"I am ceding that round, Miss. I accept that Pow would have inevitably lost and I am ending it now."

Her expression was more than a little wary, but she nodded. I hadn't quite pinpointed why this Riolu was so strange. Maybe it was receiving outside help from something? I couldn't tell yet. I retrieved the ultra ball second to the right on my belt.

"Come on out, Lord."

He emerged onto the arena floor with a great crash and let out his typical roar.

"NIDO-KING!"

He then stopped for a moment, as he observed his opponent. He turned to me with a questioning look, which I answered with a shrug, a nod and finally by pointing back at his opponent. He returned his attention to the Riolu, still rather puzzled. At the behest of an unseen signal, both pokémon sprung into action. Which rather annoyed me, as I most certainly didn't want Lord to rush in.

"Lord, keep your distance and get it with Ice Beam."

"Nido!"

Lord stopped and, for a moment, charged his fist with icy energy, as his opponent sped towards him.

"Deny the advance."

At my order, Lord made sure to aim to ensure the Riolu could not longer continue its charge, forcing it to swerve to avoid the beam. Lord was still unable to quickly change the beam's direction without cutting its power or losing the attack completely, but he was able to keep his opponent on its toes. Unfortunately, the Riolu finally managed an opening.

"Riolu, use Sky Uppercut!"

 _Wait, really? Sky U-_

"Lord, repel with Flamethrower."

Thankfully, experience allowed my mouth to ignore my brain's stunned bafflement and give the order for Lord to defend himself. Immediately terminating the ice attack, Lord spat a gout of flame at his opponent, as it tried to get in close enough to strike Lord with a leaping punch to his chin. Instead, it was knocked over. A split second later, it had sprung to its feat, fists up in that same loose stance it began in, none the worse for wear.

"Lord, Ice Beam again."

"Riolu, get it with Hyper Beam!"

 ** _WHY?! RIOLU CAN'T LEARN HY-_**

Whilst Lord might have fired his attack first, the second beam cut through the first and slammed directly into Lord, knocking him to the ground. It continued to fire into the plexiglass behind him, visibly warping the material. Laid out on his back, Lord let out a groan, before completely losing consciousness. I returned him, not entirely uncertain of what to say.

"Well then..."

I stood there for a couple of moments, eyes closed. In my head, I replayed that last exchange a couple of times, knowing I'd failed Lord in my capacity as a trainer. Even prior to my hiatus, it'd been a long time since I'd failed in such a way; I'd lost due to being out-planned, or out-trained or simply having a bad match-up against my opponent, but I couldn't remember the last time where I'd allowed a pokémon under my command to be defeated due to a incorrect evaluation of my opponent. Whilst it would be easy enough for me to put it down to some kind of deception from the pokémon in front of me; that this was obviously no Riolu, I had still failed to properly gauge its strength. I put it aside. Perhaps my edge had dulled over the past year, but for now, I certainly didn't have time to berate myself. Twenty seconds had passed since Lord had been knocked out and I had a battle to win.

Opening my eyes again, I looked across at the girl. Over the last two rounds, the smug, self-righteous air about her had returned. Behind the plexiglass, the crowd had been riled up.

"Come on, Alex!" "Stop playing around and crush her!" "Show her your Smile!" "Break the snotty brat!"

 _Not your typical cheering...But I suppose they're on my side, this once._

"I suppose this is where the gloves come off."

The girl seemed unimpressed by my declaration, but it was really for my own benefit, rather than some kind of warning. Off my belt, I grabbed the ball furthest on my left. Unlike the others, this one was starting to show signs of weathering, all covered with scratch marks. Out of habit, I rotated the ball around in my hand for a moment, before tossing it at my feet.

"Come on out, Don!"

From his pokeball, the first pokémon I'd ever caught emerged. He landed heavily on the ground, wings already out, in a mocking imitation of how Shiv liked to emerge. I rolled my eyes at his usual antics.

"Enough with the comedy act, Don. It's time for the real show to begin."

He immediately straightened up and took to the air, wings flapping slowly.

* * *

As the two pokémon sized each other up, neither combatant looked particularly concerned over their respective opponent. The Riolu's stance was still as loose and dismissive as ever, his face a mask of disdain. On the other side, though his wing beats kept a lazy tempo, the Honchkrow couldn't help but grin in anticipation. Months had passed without a worthy fight.

Behind him, Don could hear the boss calling his standard pre-fight orders. Stadium style battle, keep it nice and clean, yadda yadda yadda. Something something 'Don't underestimate', etc. He didn't need to go through it all, but the boss was nothing, if not a creature of habit. Really, Don didn't bother listening too much to what the boss was saying. Most of it was for appearances. You didn't survive the murder if you didn't have a little nous, and the old hag hadn't raised no fools. He fought smart and the boss knew that, which was the basis for their working relationship. If the boss sounded desperate, you acted immediately, or you got your feathers stripped. If the boss sounded mischievous, you listened up and trusted he knew what he was doing. Otherwise, Don trusted the boss to be his second set of eyes and ears, and the boss trusted Don to not rely on his slow as cold treacle commands.

Anyways, with the humans gas bagging, Don was left waiting for the fight to start. This wasn't a stadium, so he was pretty sure nobody would mind if he struck up a little conversation with his opponent. Nothing like a little banter to get into the spirit of things. The boss couldn't begrudge him that.

["You ready for yer medicine, friend?"]

His opponent seemed briefly irritated. Either he'd accidentally hit a nerve, or hit opponent wasn't one for pre-battle talk.

["Do not call me 'friend', Honchkrow."]

His grin widened.

["Ain't you a right ball o' sunshine. Who do you think is fallin' for your act anyway, **friend**?"]

["...I do not know what you are talking about, fool."]

["Hah! 'Fool'. 'Do not'. Dunno if I'm meant to laugh or cringe. Ever even heard a fledglin' fighting type talk? Half of 'em woulda been usin' 'birdbrain' as punctuation. Other half woulda had ta ask what 'medicine' meant. Ya talk like ya had a stint at finishin' school. Lemme give it to you straight, **friend**. You can fool a bunch of people, but you ain't foolin' me."]

That shut the knucklehead up. Wait, no, spoon bender was the right slur to use. Didn't matter in the end. After he was done with the brat, they'd be calling him 'Mincemeat'.

Unlike his opponent, Versailles had other more pressing concerns than the inconsequential battle in front of him. Finally, this was the opportunity to reverse the damage that losing to his counterpart had caused. A chance to repair the trust Sammy had in him. Already, he could see how to leverage this, especially considering how easily the Absol had fallen. Admittedly, to be forced to rely on him for this victory would hurt his charge's self-esteem to some extent, but that was something easily fixed. Repeated future victories would allow her to regain her confidence in both her own skills and in him. Not only that, but it would prove that singular loss was the exception, not the rule.

Additionally, it would show her the flaws in following the Absol's philosophy and put her back on the path she should have been following from the beginning. Allowing the dark type to have her ear was an error he would not be making twice.

A call from each trainer and both pokémon surged into action.

Having been focused on his opponent, Don just assumed the boss had called for a burst of dark energy. Not to hit his opponent, but to disrupt any type of clairvoyance the brat was using. Plenty of Psychics liked to try and get around his type immunity to mind-reading by reading the environment. Hadn't worked in a long time, though. Sure enough, for the half a second after the weak burst of energy diffused into the arena air, it looked like the bottom just dropped out of the spoon bender's stomach, before he realised how stupid he must've looked and picked his poker face off the ground. The brat leaped at him, paw drawn back. He would've had to be pretty stupid not to notice the mist congealing around the strike and Don was having none of it. With a speed built on years of practice, Don threw foreign energy into his wings and, in time with the beginning of his boss's command, sent a gust of searing hot wind into the spoon bender's face. Recoiling in pain, the brat's momentum died and he dropped to the ground. Another wave struck where he'd been lying, as he narrowly picked himself up in time.

Unwilling to let him start returning fire, he dove to take the fight in close whilst he still had the advantage. Fast though the kid might've been, he wasn't outrunning Don with his stubby legs. Their eyes met as the spoon bender, obviously unused to fighting with his senses dampened, looked over his shoulder. Again, icy energy built up in his target's paw. Over the brief couple of seconds the chase lasted, Don could read the brat's thoughts going through his little head; the question, the brief hesitation, the resolution, then the choice to stop holding back. Wouldn't help him. Spoon benders might be good at stopping some guy from plucking their thoughts out of their head, but most of them weren't so good at guarding their eyes. The brat kept throwing energy into the attack, visibly wasting energy like an amateur.

Half a second before it fired, he was idly aware of the boss's voice. He already knew when to evade; could tell how far he was done charging it. That half a second passed and-

" **-KROW!"**

A burst of profanity escaped Don as he was sent spiralling off course. Though he dodged the beam itself, he'd cut it too narrow. Remembered too late. Ice beam always extended at least half an inch past the edge of what you could see. Was based on the power. He'd taken a glancing blow to his wing, which may as well have knocked him clean out of the air. His foe always already rushing to meet him as he abruptly landed. Half a second to grin ( _Ain't gonna lose up close to no spoon bender_ ), and they were on each other. The two blurred with movement as they fought in close quarters. Paws of ice met feathers of steel. Beak and knuckle clashed and clashed again. A punch went through his guard ( _Just a bruise_ ). His beak scraped across flesh, leaving an angry red gash. Then-

" **DON-!** "

 _There!_

Another gust of burning air was thrown, timed with the boss's yell. The heat returned feeling to his wing and caught the brat as he wound back for a punch.

* * *

Caught unaware, Versailles floundered as he was swept off his feet. It took him a couple of seconds to stop the tumble and get his feet under him once more. Now, he lifted what restrictions remained, as victory became the priority. Damage control came later. Couldn't lose this opportunity. Faster, the foe closed, kept at bay by a burst of stars. A pause in the action taken to heal himself, forfeiting the initiative and what distance he had. Again, he was upon him, though slower and more cautious. An errant Thunderbolt veered off course, as the bird struck before he'd drawn a bead. Talons raked his face, tried to gouge his eyes. Another burst of lightning forced his foe back, buying him another two or three seconds. Healed. Easier when not hiding it. Another thunderbolt missed, as his foe wheeled around him. He pivoted to watch, but for the briefest of moments, his eyes lingered.

Without his dictation of her orders, Sammy stood stock still, unable to follow the battle. Still, salvageable if he was care-Distracted for a second by his thoughts, unused to the pressure, a blade of air caught the edge of his shoulder. Desperately, he returned with another ice beam, that seemed almost on point, until his foe jerked back, changing directions at the last second. He maintained the beam for two or three seconds, unable to catch the enemy, but keeping it at bay. Another few seconds bought with the onset of an unfamiliar weariness, he healed himself, but when he looked up a moment later, the creature had disappeared from view.

 _Where-?_

* * *

Twenty years ago, back when I was very young, they used to say that the theoretical ultimate Flying type move could never be achieved by a mortal pokémon. They said, if you trained a pokémon for its entire life, you might get the charge down to twenty seconds. Still far too long to be usable in direct combat and even if you could, it'd only ever be useful where you had enough time to slow down afterwards. If there wasn't, or if the energy field it surrounded itself with was flawed in any way, they said the pokémon would rip itself apart against the very air itself. This was back when trainers didn't even realise there were two 'imperfect' versions of the attack. More, if you experimented with it.

First off, there was the 'natural' version. Sky attack was a mostly useless light show that left the user a sitting duck. If you allowed for a bit of a power drop and trained them to disregard most of those survival instincts that came along with the attack, most bird pokémon could pull the attack off with maybe a four or five second wind-up and they could do it on the move. That was the second 'imperfect' version. What everyone used as standard. What everyone called 'Brave Bird'. If you still dropped the checks and balances, but kept the charge, you could amp the power further, though that wasn't much more than a party trick. Releasing the energy early was pretty desperate and horribly wasteful, but it could get an attacker off in a pinch. If the user managed to get the target in some kind of grapple, the attack could cause incredible injury to both parties. A tailwind made small improvements, as did tucking the wings in at the point of impact (though this should never be attempted without a lot of experience and practice). And, something I'd found out inadvertently, if you had a pokémon start the attack in the middle of a dive, so long as you didn't crash, it added power and shortened the charge to just over a second.

And, if you had it practised well, you could shorten it further.

"Don! Brave Bird, Close Variation!"

He might've been winning, but Don needed to end this quickly. Whatever the "Riolu" actually was, it had easy access to some kind of self-healing. Probably recover. It might've been tiring, but without the persistent injuries, it still had speed and power, whilst Don had lost speed to that injured wing. Don might've technically been in better shape; he was still moving with purpose whilst his opponent was starting to make errors, but a war of attrition could end in an instant if he took a hit. And the idiot might've just done it as well, considering how lax he was being. If he thought he wasn't getting a stern talking to at the review tonight... Well...

Of course he knew.

Looping out of the immediate sight of his opponent, by the time he was on his way down, Don's body was completely obscured by the energy he was exuding. Diving in from behind his target, he levelled his body parallel with the ground, then-

 **BANG**

Like a gunshot, the bird struck through its target, sending a sickening crack throughout the arena. Whether it was the sound barrier or the sound of breaking bones... I wouldn't spoil the story by telling. In a feat of aerial skill just as impressive as the initial burst (if not more so, if you knew how much time it took to perfect it), Don stopped mere millimetres away from the barrier. Through the centre of the arena, the concrete had churned where Don had passed. In the wake of the destruction, lay...

Lay...

If this had been another place, my jaw would've dropped. There, in the 'ruins' of the arena (as Jim would later call it), was an unconscious Mew.

I should have been losing it. If it had been elsewhere.

But this was the arena. My element. I had seen many an amazing thing standing in a spot just like this. Regigigas, Darkrai, Latios and every minor bird and beast there is. What was this, but another addition? An unexpected one, certainly, but not the greatest impossibility I'd ever seen.

My poker face cracked slightly, as I was unable to resist a smirk laced with curiosity.

 _Interesting._


	2. Chapter 2 - Opportunist

Unfortunately, FFN does not support strikethrough or coloured text, so that's a bit of an irritation. Regardless, here's chapter two. Many thanks to my beta readers CouchMaster, Magnive and cezyou (even if they aren't called that on this site...or even visit this site at all).

 **Chapter 2: Opportunist**

Shock held the bar silent for maybe ten seconds, before a wave of whispers began to build. Across the arena, if it weren't for her eyes, which bounced erratically between her pokémon, Don and I, one might mistake her for a mannequin. Not that I could hold her shock against her. You don't expect to lose with a truly mythical pokémon on your side.

For anyone who spends enough time climbing the training community's social ladder, running into a pokémon with the moniker 'legendary' is inevitable. Even ignoring misapplications of the word by the ill-informed, such as Arcanine and Rotom, there were enough instances of true legends amongst upper echelon trainers that running into one is a matter of 'when', not 'if'. There were many public figures who had a legendary dog or bird or golem in their back pocket, in case of emergency. The general public wasn't privy to this fact, but rumours escaped frequently enough that it could barely be considered 'news'. If the owner was some no-name trainer instead of a Frontier Brain or member of the Elite Four, then that might attract attention, but only because such a feat is 'impressive', as opposed to 'impossible'. With that in mind, even amongst legendary pokémon, some are definitely more legendary than others and Mew landed squarely on the 'more' side of the spectrum.

Until that moment, if forced to declare an opinion, I would've leaned towards disbelief in the pokémon. Not ' _There's not way this could exist!_ ', but more ' _I have seen no proof and I default to scepticism'_. On the whole, it wasn't exactly a pokémon I thought about very often. I rolled it into that vague, nebulous concept of 'myths and folklore' that held little relevance to my life. I know a lot of children dream of growing up to become a pokémon master with half a dozen different bed time stories on their belt, but that was never my cup of tea. When I was young, I was always a little more grounded than that, unfortunately.

Then again, perhaps the present 'I' was better positioned to acknowledge this pokémon's existence than my ten year old self. It's a far greater stretch to believe in Mew when Dratini is the rarest pokémon you've ever seen as opposed to, say, Regigigas. With hard proof in front of me and the shock muted by my surroundings, accepting its existence wasn't difficult. Far more baffling was how a relative newbie like my opponent could get her hands on one. It was no doubt a long and complex story. A part of me wanted to storm over there and wring it out of her, but I restrained myself. That would be improper.

My eyes were drawn back to the offending pokémon. Truly, in such a state, it was unsettlingly mundane. Small. Pink-furred. Vaguely mammalian. The tail and head shape were somewhat unique, but not particularly exotic. Ask a person with no knowledge of myth and they might assume the pokémon before me was but a common unevolved psychic type (or perhaps a normal type if they were especially uneducated). Despite the number of injuries it appeared to have sustained during the fight, it appeared mostly unharmed. Vague memories of tests done with Smeargle informed me that a pokémon did not directly retain injuries it received while transformed, but the subject would often faint immediately afterwards, especially if it needed to replace lost mass. Its breathing was somewhat shallow, but it appeared stable enough. Without medical training, I obviously couldn't be certain, but I'd seen enough injured pokémon to have an informed opinion.

I cringed internally as I realised I'd been staring. That was classic breach of battle etiquette and truly unbecoming of a gentleman. A subtle motion of my hand returned Don to his pokeball. My step was sure and deliberate ( _perhaps overly so_ ) as I crossed the broken arena and offered her the traditional handshake.

"Well fought, Miss."

Ten seconds passed before my words and motions finally reached her and she accepted the shake. No weight or movement behind it and as I let go of her hand, it just sat there for a little while, still extended. She made no further movement, still obviously a thousand miles away. As was often the case, I felt perhaps the tiniest bit guilty for doing this. I hovered there for a second or two, uncertain of what I should say, if anything. Again, my gaze was drawn back to the unconscious pokémon behind me for a moment, and thought crossed my mind.

I cleared my throat.

"You may wish to return your pokémon."

It took a moment for her to respond.

"Um...Oh. Yeah."

She did so. She screwed up her face for a moment, before stomping off. I only caught a glimpse of her face, but she _might_ have been on the edge of tears. It stirred the usual feelings of guilt that bedeviled me whenever I was responsible for a (mostly) undeserved thrashing and, as usual, I did my best to ignore them. It took me a moment more to accept that speculation would get me no more easy answers and I too left the arena. Around me, the tension in the air seemed palpable as I made my way back to my seat. Jim's expression, a dash of horror mixed into a bowl of disbelief, mirrored those of his patrons.

My pasta had gotten cold. Pity.

"Uh, Alex?"

I swallowed that last bite and wiped my mouth clean with the napkin before answering.

"Yes, Jim?"

"So...Uh... Ya kinda...Uh...Arena's gotten messed up again."

I chuckled. That _was_ a bad habit of mine.

"Mmm, sorry about that. I'll see Clay tomorrow and he'll have his boys level the gashes again. I'm sure the insurance will cover. Don't think it'd see much use tonight anyway; looks like everyone's lost their appetite for more matches."

And with that, I returned to the food. Jim fixed me with a pointed glare as I tried to finish my meal.

"Can ya at least pretend to be a little surprised?"

I gave him as serene a smile as I could muster (' _I have my mouth full, Jim'_ ). Unfortunately, that smile was wiped from my face as, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of pink. It seemed my opponent, expression still that nasty mix of anger and dejection, was altogether done with this place. With the arena out of commission, there was nothing for her here, so it made sense.

That gremlin, guilt, reared its ugly head once more.

 _Yes, great work, Midnight. With this single loss, you have stripped a young trainer of almost all her liquid funds, caused her great angst, potentially causing lasting damage to her self-esteem and revealed a personal secret of hers to a crowd of strangers. The 'lesson' you wished to teach will surely be internalised immediately without angst or misinterpretation and your actions will be completely justified. It couldn't possibly be that that your pride would cause you lead you to lash out at someone who lacks the life experience to understand the faux pas they committed._

'Fix this' warred with 'Haven't you done enough damage?' for a moment, before I turned to Jim and made the request.

"So, the money, Jim?"

"Hmm? Oh, er, right."

Two piles of notes were produced from behind the counter and he tidied them into a neat stack as he handed them over. I split it in half as and put each in a separate pocket. This prompted a worried look from Jim.

"Alex..."

I waved him off with a good-humoured chuckle.

"It's my money, fair and square. I'll waste it how I please."

He glanced nervously over my shoulder.

"Look, I'm just looking out f–"

"Don't worry, I'll be discreet. Wouldn't want trouble."

For a moment, it really looked like Jim wanted to say something further, but couldn't find the words. In the end, he decided it wasn't worth the effort and shooed me off, grumbling under his breath the moment he thought I wouldn't hear him.

It was at that point that I realised the _actual_ reason Jim was worried. The girl ( _Samantha, I suppose?_ ) was currently waylaid by one of the regulars. The thug in question was known to his friends as Greg. Full name, Gregory Phillip McMahon Esquire. Your typical aging roughneck: tall, bald and quickly going to seed. A biker jacket that might have fit half a decade ago over a black t-shirt and a ratty pair of jeans. An unsavoury sort, to say the least.

I missed how it'd happened, but he'd managed to get in front of her just before she'd left the building. He was easily able to obstruct anyone attempting to pass him, even if he wasn't quite wide enough to completely block the exit.

"C'mon, girly. Why don'tcha stay here fer a bit longer? This place don't close till eleven."

She tried to push past him, patience obviously waning. I assume she hoped he wasn't particularly serious about blocking her, but he shifted to match her angle and she immediately backed off. With no way of passing via brute force, she decided to ask politely*.

"Get out of the way, you jerk. I need to go heal my pokémon!"

One would assume that the smile Greg gave her was intended to be warm and friendly, but unfortunately, he didn't have the face for it. The dull lighting did him no favours, nor did specifics of who he was talking to. It also didn't help that he was a remarkably predictable man whose motivations were easily discerned by even the merest acquaintances. Regardless of his expression, in my mind's eye, I could see his dollar sign-shaped pupils.

"I've got this friend o' mine who's a pokémon doc an' he can come o'er n' fix yer... 'mon right quick. Y'don't wanna hafta go all t' way through the cold, do ya?"

 _Well, that is a lie by omission if I ever saw one._

Even if I hadn't already been in motion, overhearing that would've drawn my ire and interference. My approach went unnoticed, which suited me fine. I cleared my throat.

"If you are referring to Doctor Lee, I will remind you-"

 _-Which is to say, reveal the semi-important detail that-_

" –that his Doctorate is in Zoology, not Veterinary Science or any kind of Medicine. His presence would likely extend the delay in healing her pokémon, not expedite it. I am quite certain that her initial assumption was correct and it is in her best interest for her to make haste towards the nearest pokémon centre."

He dropped his affable facade for a moment to shoot me an angry glare.

"Nobody asked you, Midnight."

I gave him that usual grin I reserved for those who I had naught but disdain for.

 _Does this look like the face of mercy to you?_

"I am but granting assistance to a fellow trainer whose immediate future is perhaps more precarious than what she is being lead to believe, Mr McMahon."

With the death of any chance he would achieve his goals using reason, Mr McMahon switched to a more familiar tactic; intimidation. He puffed up his chest instinctively and tried to loom over us as best he could. As a great percentage of his volume was filled with adipose tissue, the effect wasn't quite what he intended. Not that it would've mattered with the scum I'd dealt with previously, but as it stood, it was more comical than anything.

"What are ya, some kinda white knight?"

I mimed thinking about it for a moment.

"Well, I would prefer the term 'Chevalier', as is the traditional name for such a person in my place of birth."

He sneered at my anaemic attempt at humour.

"Suuuure. Ain't she a bit young fer you, Midnight?"

I would I say I was surprised he was trying to insinuate that, but I'm really not. The bait was irritating, but ultimately unappetising. I'd heard far worse. I decided to turn the condescension up to eleven.

"Mr McMahon, while I applaud your attempts at defending her virtue, you are but tilting at windmills, for I have no interest in her in the insinuated way. In any case, I think you may have gotten off track. While I am aware you believe you deserve the 'finder's fee' for some reason, you appear ignorant to the fact that it's her pokémon, thus she has the ultimate say. And, unless I am sorely mistaken, she has already turned down your proposition."

Picking up on my opening, Samantha echoed my sentiments.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to Versailles! He's my friend!"

Admittedly, it was entirely possible nothing would have happened to 'Versailles' if she acceded to his request. If the situation was handled by someone with integrity, some pictures would be taken and perhaps a few non-invasive tests, then, assuming they were unable to finagle the trainer's permission, that would be the end of it. However, I had little trust in any of the parties that would likely be involved in that process so I didn't bother actually mentioning this fact.

"Indeed. That is all there is on the matter, Mr McMahon. Perhaps, if you are so short on money that you are resorting to such tactics, you should consider reapplying for your old job at the foundry."

I can only describe the noise Mr McMahon produced as a snarl. I won't repeat the words that followed it, but I assure you, they were not the sort one uses in polite company. To summarise, he expounded upon his previous point, then went on to attack my character in more generic, less relevant ways. Perhaps that final comment was unnecessary, but it ultimately opened a window for me to present my trump card, now that it was apparent to all that this was an **argument**.

I began with an overly dramatic sigh.

"Well, Mr McMahon, if this is a matter you feel so passionate about, would I be incorrect in assessing that you wouldn't be averse to taking this outside to settle the 'traditional way'?"

That stopped him in his tracks as he remembered just who he was talking to and, more importantly, what pokémon everyone associated with me, yet had not appeared (and thus had not been injured) in that last little scuffle.

"You wouldn't dare, Midnight! You don't have the balls!"

I stepped towards him and he recoiled like he'd been burnt. My smile remained its usual, cordial self despite the temptation to shift it towards a more predatory grin.

"Please, call my bluff. I'm a Milquetoast coward who would get his clock cleaned if he ever had to get his hands dirty. Isn't that what everyone says?"

 _ **I've been waiting for an excuse like this.**_

I allowed the pause to last long enough to be embarrassing; long enough that my comment couldn't be mistaken for a rhetorical question. He wisely remained silent, in fear of 'removing all doubt'.

Perhaps calling a completely bog standard pokémon battle 'the traditional way' might be considered deceptive. If called out on it, I would've answered that anyone who thought any upstanding trainer would attempt to provoke another into accepting a full-contact seven on seven was fooling themselves. Quod erat demonstrandum, he had no-one to blame but himself for that incorrect assumption.

"I suppose you don't feel like pressing the issue that far. If you'd please stand aside, that'd be appreciated."

A reluctant shuffle to the side later saw our passage once again unobstructed. Before she could continue on her way, I addressed Miss Pink-Haired-Girl-Whose-Last-Name-Wasn't-Mentioned.

"If I may, I would like to accompany you to the pokémon centre. There are all sorts of unsavoury people around this part of Driftveil and you are without a large portion of your team... For which I apologise."

A suspicious look crossed her face and I wondered if I had come across as creepy ( _again_ ), but after a moment, she acquiesced.

"Fine."

We departed into the cold, Driftveil night, unphased by the daggers glared at our backs.

* * *

*As anyone who has dealt with contracts and other kinds of unreliable legislature knows, an asterisk is legalese for "I lied!"

* * *

As soon as the closed door blocked the line of sight from inside, I retrieved the girl's half of the wager from my pocket.

"Here."

She looked down at the wad of cash I had offered, then back to me, expression quizzical. A moment of awkwardness passed while I tried to articulate myself.

"Ugh. So, going into that whole mess, my initial intention was to take your ego down a peg. Yes, I'm entirely aware of the irony, considering I allowed my own pride to unduly influence my actions. My intentions aside, baiting you like that was unbecoming of an experienced trainer and I'm certain a thousand dollars is a sum you can't afford to suddenly lose."

She eyed me sceptically; an understandable response, considering how tidily the confrontation had ended. I would think something was up as well. After a moment's hesitation, she accepted the money and shoved it into one of her pockets. I almost told her to put it somewhere safer, but stopped myself. As I had often found in the past, people (especially those under the age of eighteen) typically found such reminders to be insulting.

At least, with the knowledge that I'd returned it, the little voice in my head that liked to complain about such things was temporarily placated.

I looked off towards the docks. The nearest pokémon centre was a couple of kilometres in that direction. If you took the route past the wharf, it was about half an hour's walk. Going as the Murkrow flies might have been faster in theory, but the maze of alleys and dead-ends that was southern Driftveil was a risky prospect.

"I assume you're fine going past the Wharf?"

She nodded stiffly. Obviously, she wanted as little to do with me as possible. I resisted sighing. Whilst there were plenty of people out there who shared similar opinions ( _a depressingly large number_ ) and I was mostly fine with that, knowing I'd made an error always stung.

We hurried through the cold streets, our steps echoing in the gloom. As much as Clay had done over to reverse the urban blight that'd plagued the city for the past few decades, there were still places like this that stood as a reminder that, until seven years ago, Driftveil had been dying a slow, ignoble death. Graffiti and smashed glass as far as the eye could see. This close to the water, the salt air ate at everything. Signs of concrete cancer plagued half the buildings. Lingering here was unwise, even with adequate self-defence. I added the question "Why come here?" to the list of questions I pointedly didn't ask.

The journey was taken in silence and I pretended not to notice the occasional apprehensive glance. Number one on that aforementioned list was still how she came into possession of Mew of all pokémon, but, considering she hadn't offered one, I doubted she would answer truthfully if prompted. Thus, I occupied my thoughts by collating what I knew about her and tried to, if not solve the puzzle, at least find some of the edge pieces.

The simplest (and, according to Occam's Razor, the most likely) answer was 'She got lucky and stumbled across it in a field somewhere'. If that was it, I would be thoroughly disappointed.

Before long, we'd reached the waterfront. Ten more minutes and we'd be at the pokémon centre. The distinct, mildly unpleasant smell of the sea wafted up from the harbour. My travelling partner took a moment to gaze out across the bay at the glow in the distance. Unova's famous 'Nimbasa Lights'. I'd never seen what the fuss was about, especially here where you couldn't even see the city properly. Then again, when compared with Luminiose on New Year's Eve, I suppose any light show is a bit of a letdown.

A slight twinge behind my eyes instinctively sent my hand to the flask on my hip. I hesitated, looking down to the innocuous metal bottle in my hand. It'd been years since the last time I'd actually needed it.

 _Why now? It's not like-_

I looked across at the [girl] Samantha ( _I really should think of her by name_ ). My thoughts churned for a moment as plausible scenarios ran through my head. Appeasing my paranoia, I took a swig and swallowed as quickly as I could, though doing so left me coughing and spluttering. I'd never gotten used to the distinctly dry taste, but then I guess you weren't meant to. The girl shot me a scornful look, but I paid her no heed.

 _Let her think it's alcohol._

I took a breath and kept a much closer eye on immediate environs. This was no Undella; Driftveil Wharf was a distinctly unsavoury place. Unlike the streets leading up to it ( _plenty of hidden corners for potential observers_ ), the Wharf was open and any intruders could be immediately spotted. If someone was planning an ambush ( _or were looking for an opportunity_ ), this would be the perfect spot to attack. Lo and behold, no more than a minute or two later, my suspicions were vilified ( _And verified_ ).

From out of the shadows, a man appeared ( _where was he hiding?_ ). Someone began laughing ominously ( _actually, it's more of a chuckle_ ) and though an unnatural echo obscured its true origin ( _Scare tactics_ ) ( _Fun_ ), I had to assume it was him ( _Unless someone else is using psychic powers to mess with our heads_ ) ( _Or maybe he has a ventriloquist assistant_ ). He began to approach us, each step slow and deliberate. I guessed he was confident in the knowledge that neither of us were at full power ( _which was silly, since I had plenty of 'power' left in the tank_ ).

I had hoped to glean more once he'd approached, but even once revealed by the dim street lights above, useful details were still sparse. Dressed in a black coat ( _long and formal, but I have no clue what kind_ ) ( _He probably thinks it looks cool_ ) [ _Okay, perhaps a little]_ , his features were entirely obscured. He was big and, assumedly, muscular ( _not the right body type for that to be fat_ ) and that was my eyes could tell me.

I still couldn't be certain he was the one laughing. His face was entirely obscured by a metal mask ( _is it even a mask?) (did he tape a block of steel to his face, paint it purple and call it a day?_ ). I immediately pencilled him in as either supported by a psychic pokémon ( _more likely_ ), or in possession of psychic powers of his own ( _more appropriate_ ), for there was no way a normal person could see through a solid, featureless metal sheet. I could immediately tell he was trying some mental trick, but I was ready for that ( _I had danced this Charleston too many times before to be taken out like that_ ).

Then, he started clapping. It was a slow, vaguely sarcastic clap and the contempt I could sense behind it only put me further on edge.

"Well done, trainer. Very well done."

 _I do have a name, you know._

Though surprisingly soft spoken for such a large gentleman, his voice was as deep as you'd expect. I edged forward slightly. Obviously, as was always the case, he wasn't after me, so it was best if I was out in front. I couldn't immediately tell what his deal was ( _Psychic powers_ ) ( _Sneaky_ ) ( _Ghost or dark type assistance?_ ) ( _Built like a brick outhouse_ ), so I stayed my hand. Vaguely threatening though he was, he hadn't technically done anything that constituted a 'threat' ( _'had a funny feeling' doesn't hold up in court_ ). Perhaps it would have been smarter to send Scrape out immediately, but regardless, I simply stood my ground and let him talk.

"I had almost thought no pokémon could defeat that guardian. You have done me a great favour."

I spent a moment unpacking that statement [ _Is she the guardian?]_ ( _No, the Mew_ ) ( _Not his first attack_ ) ( _'No pokémon'_ ) ( _Tried multiple times?_ ) ( _Tried different tactics?_ ). Unfortunately, while my mind was occupied with that, I failed to do anything useful. Rather than prepare a pokémon to send out, I began to run my mouth.

"Well thanks, I suppose. I couldn't _possibly_ guess why you'd want her pokémon defeated and really, I wouldn't advise attempting anything that would require such a prerequisite. Really, if you're going to act in such a way, you'll quickly find yourself in trouble with the law. Now, if you'd be so ki-"

"Now, however, your job is done, **stand aside**."

I idly noticed he made an odd motion with his right hand, but I really didn't care. He stopped in front of me and waited expectantly. If he thought I'd get taken in by some freak trick ( _probably Hypnosis_ ) ( _maybe Confuse Ray_ ) ( _probably Hypnosis_ ), he was in for a rude surprise. I folded my arms and remained stationary. A second or so passed and I gave him a smug ( _overconfident_ ) grin.

"Sorry, but I'd really rather not. As I was saying, if you'd be so-"

I was ready to catch his arm when he tried to push me aside ( _it was more like a swipe, really_ ). Unfortunately, what I should've been ready for was whatever psychic powers ( _external assistance or otherwise_ ) slammed into me before his arm made contact. It really shouldn't have been so much of a surprise. I already knew he had some kind of psychic powers or assistance, so telekinesis shouldn't have been out of the question ( _Come_ _ **on**_ _; how come they always have other tricks?_ ) ( _I guess if they didn't they'd be rather stupid_ ) _ **.**_ I'd been watching him so closely that, if a pokémon had me in their sights, I really wouldn't have noticed until too late.

I was thrown clean off my feet.

 _I guess I really was asking for tha-_

* * *

 **CRASH**

The guy (she knew his name started with an 'A'; she _might_ not have been paying much attention earlier) slammed into a bunch of garbage cans. She wanted to see if he was okay. She really did. At first, she was soooooo convinced he was just another jerk trainer like the rest in the bar and then that he was all weird and patronising and she thought he might be a bad guy, but then he actually stood up to the hunter and he tried to help, and then **that** happened.

She snapped back to the hunter. He was smiling under that mask. She couldn't see it, but she knew. He was savouring having her at his mercy, with all her pokémon knocked out.

 _No...I still have Ember. Solomon can't fight, but Ember..._

She grabbed the ball off her waist-

 _-No, she can do this!-_

-then released it at her feet.

"Go, Ember!"

Her first pokémon jumped out, standing firm between Sammy and her attacker. It hadn't been so long ago that she'd evolved into a Combusken and she was still getting used to her new, uh, everything, but she was still really strong!

For a moment, she saw Ember waver, but Sammy believed in her pokémon.

 _ **I believe in you, Ember.**_

She totally did! And she definitely wasn't remembering what happened last time, no siree!

Noticing just who exactly she was up against, Ember's stance faltered slightly, but she put up a brave face.

"...Don't come any closer!"

He looked down at Ember and paused.

"How cute."

She swallowed, before rallying. He was trying to scare her! She wouldn't fall for it!

"Ember, use Overheat!"

Ember hesitated. Sammy hoped she hadn't forgotten that, despite looking, sounding and acting like a human, the thing in front of them definitely wasn't. Probably. She took a single deep breath, before exhaling a whirling beam of flame at her opponent, large enough to engulf him completely. Seconds passed as the road blackened beneath the attack. Surely, he couldn't have withstood such power!

But no, as it all dwindled down to nothing, the hunter was none the worse for wear. Not even his clothes. That was totally cheating. She knew he was grinning smugly behind that mask. She could feel it in her bones. Ember braced herself, hands on her legs. As Flannery had told her, Overheat put all a pokémon's effort and energy into one attack. It was all or nothing. Without that single hit knock out, Sammy knew that her last line of defence was on the ropes.

"You really _are_ defenceless without the rat."

She let a hint of anger melt the edge off the cold fear in the pit of her stomach. There was no way she was going to let him get away with insulting Ember and Versailles like that!

Before she could issue another order (she would totally have thought of something, given the chance), the hunter's hand began to glow.

" **Sleep**."

He did a weird motion with it and all the fight went out of Ember. She dropped to her knees, struggling to stay awake. A moment passed and then she was out, soundly asleep. Knowing there was nothing else her starter could do in that state, she returned Ember to her pokéball.

As bad as things looked, Sammy stood defiant, as he slowly closed in. She didn't know how, but some way, she'd beat him!

 _ **Yeah!**_

Her throat definitely wasn't dry and she definitely wasn't on the verge of tears.

 _ **Definitely!**_

As he closed in, hand still glowing, she grit her teeth and racked her brains and-

Somewhere behind her, there was a heavy thud, followed by a loud, rallying roar.

"Scrape! Charge and pin!"

" **CAVALRY, FORWARD!** "

Like an oncoming train, a massive dragon pokémon charged into view. It was bigger than any pokémon she'd seen before.

Okay, maybe Brawly's sumo guy. And the herd of Tropius near the institute. But aside from those, the bigger than any **other** pokémon she'd seen. She'd never seen a Haxorus before, but his cry revealed his identity. The hunter tried to brace against the charge, but the Haxorus slammed into him and knocked him over with as much effort as if he were a paper cut-out ( _WHAT?!_ ). Before he could put up a struggle, the dragon-type slammed his foot down and held him firm. Though he strained at the ground, the Hunter couldn't budge the foot. Seeing his captive completely helpless, the Haxorus bent down, face to face with the masked man.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Scrape."

He pressed his foot down even harder.

"And that's all the courtesy you're getting."

From the direction the Haxorus had charged from, came a familiarly stuffy voice (with just a hint of a Kalosian accent). She snapped her head round for a moment to find the guy ( _what's his name!_ ) picking himself out of the stuff he'd slammed into. He was slouched over even more than he had been (and probably a little bruised) but otherwise fine. At his side was a large, pink pokémon with a seashell crown.

"Nicely done, Scrape."

The hunter once again did the funny thing with his hand, even though he could barely move his arm, but before he could finish, a sparkly green field covered the area and the glow around them winked out.

"As usual, Consigliore, thank you very much for the Safeguard."

"Of course, Alexander."

 _Oh right, that's his name!_

The pokémon was actually talking! In English, even! Without an order, he let out a wave of pink energy and the trainer stood up just a little straighter. He rolled his shoulders, straightened out his jacket and gave a scholarly little chuckle.

"You're a life saver, Consigliore."

"That _is_ my job, Alexander."

Maybe she imagined it, but she thought she saw a hint of a catlike grin upon the otherwise taciturn pokémon's lips. She blinked and it was gone.

Now that the tables had turned and they weren't in danger, they could finally get to the pokémon centre (and she could pretend this night hadn't happened!). Alex, on the other hand, had other ideas. He strode over to the fallen hunter and peered down at the man still trapped under two hundred pounds of pokémon.

"Now that I have your attention, if you'd be willing to answer some questions before I call the poli-"

Before he could finish, the Hunter vanished, leaving only his metal mask behind.

Alex sighed.

"Well, that's just typical."

* * *

I nearly gagged as I forced down another sip of the tea. The two packets of sugar I'd unceremoniously dumped in it had done little to dull its bitter taste. It allegedly contained Persim juice, but I had my doubts about that. Across the table, Samantha was faring little better, but we continued to struggle through it. Disgusting though it may have been, it was a well known treatment for those afflicted by status ailments and every pokémon centre carried its ingredients. I let Samantha think we were drinking it to remove any side effects from the masked man's hypnosis attacks.

It never hurt to be cautious, in any case.

Every now and then I noticed her glance towards the healing station. She would frown uncertainly, before pointedly switching her attention back to the tea. An agonisingly long forty minutes passed like that (though we thankfully ran out of tea after half an hour), before I was allowed to collect my pokémon. Again, I found myself with a thousand and one questions that I couldn't bring myself to ask. Whatever fire had been driving her previously had guttered and died in the silence of the pokémon centre foyer. When the call came, Samantha also made her way to the front desk, anxious to know how much longer.

The nurse shot her a dirty look as her only reward.

"They'll be done when they're done."

We returned to our seats. On one hand, the removal of those specialised screens that displayed the progress of the healing they used to use was inconvenient. On the other hand, there was definitely something to be said for the added privacy, Hippocratic Oath or not. Especially in the unlikely scenario that a trainer was concealing a pokémon that may or may not be straight out of a fairytale.

 _But what are the chances of that?_

Multiple times over the wait, I entertained the idea of letting the authorities handle this. I had no doubts that they would do an...adequate job of both protecting the girl and ensuring that, whoever was chasing her, would have no opportunity to hurt anyone else. He might have been slippery for a single trainer without any kind of specialised equipment, but the police were another matter altogether. Unfortunately, my curiosity held me to my decision. If she hadn't done so already, there had to be a reason for it.

Unfortunately, such mental questions were all the entertainment available. The centre was almost exclusively used by dock workers, most of whom had long clocked off (or had yet to clock on, for the late shift). I also briefly considered looking through the magazine rack in the corner, but I already knew from past experience, I would find nothing interesting there. Like the entire pokemon centre, it was woefully out of date.

It wasn't long after the clock chimed eight, nearly an hour later, that the distinctive beeping from healing station finally wound down and Samantha was called to retrieve her pokémon. She returned to her seat immediately afterwards and an awkward moment passed as she was unable to meet my gaze.

 _Well, don't all talk at once._

I stood up.

"Walk with me."

She hastily followed me outside.

"W-Where are we going?"

"There is a small diner near here. It has a very popular signature dish by the name of 'Privacy'."

I looked over my shoulder. She had trouble keeping pace with my stride. If I were less tired, I might have slowed down.

"And then, I think a little discussion of recent events is in order."

Arthur's was less than a five minute walk. For all appearances, it was a brightly lit, family friendly little place; the picture of a typical Unovan diner. For the most part, it was exactly what it looked like, as far as I knew.

Ms Alice Gate was at the register, as usual. I replaced my stern countenance with a polite smile for the 'public'.

"Ah, good evening, Ms Gate. Is the quiet table available?"

A curt nod.

I dropped a couple notes on the table, which quietly vanished into the till.

"Thank you very much. We'll order when we're ready."

The aforementioned 'quiet table' was situated in a claustrophobic little back room. Its original purpose was unknown, but most probably sinister. With the door closed, the sounds of the evening customers were completely silenced.

I folded my arms.

"You've got some time to sort yourselves out with your pokemon. After that, some answers would be appreciated, if that's all well and good with you."

She hesitated, before nodding and releasing her pokémon. It appeared in that same prone position, but jolted awake. It took to the air for a moment, before turning to face Samantha. They stared at each other for a moment, most probably communicating telepathically. Then Samantha gave it a hug and it was all very touching.

 _Allow me to break out the box of tissues._

The Mew suddenly swivelled round to face me, eyes wide in panic ( _?_ ).

 _VS:_ _YOU!_

It pulled back, interposing itself between its trainer and I.

I blinked, rather nonplussed.

"Indeed."

Usually, I would've been amused by the display of loyalty, however misguided. Right now, however, such an act was just another delay.

 _VS:_ _Stay where you are._

The mental voice was something of an enigma. It was vaguely male, but not enough so that I could say for certain. It didn't seem particularly old, nor especially youthful. Ultimately, what few assumptions one could make from it were unreliable at best. It was entirely possible the voice had no relation to the age or gender of the speaker ( _?_ ) and it was even plausible that it was deliberately misleading.

It turned its head back to look at its trainer. Without a prominent mouth, it was difficult to accurately divine its emotions, but its eyes spoke of a barely hidden concern. Watching a psychic type's eyes spoke volumes of what they were thinking, though doing so was a risky prospect. Though I could tell they were conversing silently, I chose to let them continue for now. Still, my patience was beginning to wear quite thin. I crossed my arms and resisted making a snide remark.

Finally, the pokémon returned its attention to me.

 _VS:_ _It seems Sammy thinks you deserve answers._

Its expression turned pensive for a moment.

 _VS:_ _Well, we haven't much time. We must escape this prison before-_

"Wait, what prison?" "Uh, we're in prison?"

I found it difficult to see how this might be considered a 'prison'. While it might have had a low ceiling, no windows and and unvarnished wood as the floor, I didn't see anything screaming 'prison'. Apparently baffled by our inability to see the 'obvious', it immediately continued.

 _VS:_ _This psychic-proof cage that-_

I felt compelled to field this one.

"We're in the backroom of a diner I occasionally frequent. The building just happens to be insulated against telepathy. I thought it prudent to elude prying minds."

Despite the street façade, classic Unovan diner furnishing (complete with tacky checkered floor tiles) and squeaky-clean current management, the building's sinister past remained unchanged. Arthur's was originally a safe house for Driftveil's most influential organised crime syndicate. For an eavesdropping psychic, the building was more difficult to penetrate than a Pawniard's... Let's say skull.

How I learned this little bit of trivia was a story in and of itself.

 _VS:_ _Hmm... Well, if that's the case, we have no time to lose. I don't know why he hasn't struck already, but the hun-_

"Uh, Versailles, the hunter already tried something."

Samantha's face had spent the last thirty seconds struggling to figure out whether it wanted to be 'curious' or 'embarrassed'. As her pokémon suddenly froze in mid air, stunned by this revelation, she settled on the latter. Seconds passed and both were replaced with mild frustration.

I pointedly cleared my throat.

"I don't suppose either of you intend to share with class?"

The Mew looked back at me briefly, then turned his attention back to his trainer. I took note of the way Samantha's eyes lingered on that specific action.

 _If you won't be up front, I suppose I shall have to make inferences._

"It's nothing."

I mentally replayed her actions during the battle. Not the most sound information to draw conclusions from, but I began to piece together a picture in my head. I inched around so that I might observe the Mew's face. A variety of expressions played across the faces of both pokémon and person, though it seemed that Samantha was tending towards the more frustrated side of the emotional spectrum.

"Versailles! I'm serious! We already fought him off."

I was accosted by the urge to correct that 'we', but held my tongue (as seemed to be the continuing trend). Instead, I decided to reveal the souvenir I'd been keeping inside my jacket. With its distinct shade of purple and the various markings and runes revealed under proper lighting, it was obvious that the 'mask' was actually an unaltered Psychic Plate. How he managed to wear it without obvious modifications eluded me.

"If I may, you might find this pertinent to the discussion."

The piece was snatched from my hands and levitated over to the Mew, who spent maybe thirty seconds scrutinising it. With the pokémon seemingly satisfied, it was placed carefully onto the table. With this information, it seemed I had suddenly become worth acknowledging and the Mew gave me an appraising look.

 _VS:_ _I must admit, I was...sceptical that Samantha would be able to handle herself against an enemy as difficult as the Hunter, but it seems that, working together, you were able to overcome him. Your assistance was invaluable._

The truth is a strange and shifting beast that appears drastically different to each observer. Despite this, I was quite certain that the aforementioned statement was a lie wearing the skin of the truth as some vile disguise, and that the speaker's knowledge of the facts was either heavily warped or completely absent. While the inappropriately distributed credit was a minor hit to my pride, I decided to first address the other falsehood.

"Mmmm...I wouldn't have called him a 'difficult' enemy. If I hadn't been as careless as I had been, or if I'd been certain, rather than suspicious, of his intentions, he would've been 'summarily' defeated, as opposed to 'casually' defeated."

Curiously, the strangled sound came from the trainer, not the pokémon, who fixed me with a bewildered stare. Then, the two were back to staring at each other. The Mew attempted to maintain a calm mien, though way it seemed to shift and the darting of its eyes betrayed a building panic. Samantha quickly moved past 'frustrated' into 'angry' and possibly all the way into 'furious', though the degree of her ire was difficult to discern. Unfortunately, no matter how she screwed her face up, nor how deep the frown was, her features were far too soft for 'furious' to look appropriate.

Then, one party decided to switch mediums.

"I CAN TOTALLY TAKE CARE OF-"

A pause. I assumed the Mew was speaking.

"AND WHERE WERE **YOU**?! YOU SAID YOU WOULD- I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU. "

Another pause.

"NO, Y'KNOW WHAT? SHUT UP. I'M DONE WITH THIS."

She reached for her belt. The pokémon's expression turned desperate.

"I DON'T CARE ANYMORE."

In one swift movement, she returned the Mew to its pokeball. A few moments passed while she just stared at it. Then she pulled a chair out from under the table, sat herself down on it, and dropped her head onto the desk.

Again, I felt the impetus to ask questions, but found myself unwilling to interrupt her moping. Even with what little I'd overheard, it felt like I'd intruded upon something quite private. Fortunately, it seemed that my intentions were already quite obvious.

"Well? Ask your stupid questions."

Startled by her suddenly despondent voice, it took a moment for the most pressing question to come to mind.

"Will the masked gentleman be returning for a second round in the immediate future?"

She took a moment to answer

"Dunno. Don't think so."

"Will he be going after anyone else in the mean time?"

"Don't think so. He's after me and Versailles. That's it, I think."

 _'Me and Versailles', yet he spoke of the 'Guardian' more as an obstacle than a goal. Interesting._

I took a seat near her. She gave no indication that she'd noticed. I had the sneaking suspicion this would take longer than I'd anticipated.

"How are you holding up?"

She picked her head off the table to look at me. I tried to ignore the way her eyes watered slightly.

 _Please no. Can we have something else? Something I have experience in dealing with, as opposed to the crying teenage girl?_

"What kind of question is that?"

I sighed.

"Look, I mean... Let it be put on the record that you do not owe me any answers. I would most certainly like to hear them, but mostly in effort to satisfy my curiosity and most definitely not if doing so would put someone, who I have already wronged to some degree, in a greater distress. With the two mandatory questions answered to the best of your ability, assuming there are no other pressing matters, it would be preferable to deal with... Whatever you are going through. So, I'll ask again. How are you holding up?"

She dropped her head back onto the table.

"How do you think?"

I leaned back slightly in my chair.

"I...Honestly can't say. My ability to evaluate your current mental state is limited by the fact we can barely be considered acquaintances."

We sat there for a minute or two, before she broke the silence.

"Why am I so useless?"

I froze, uncertain where that had come from.

"Apologies, but you were attacked while three of what I assume is your five pokémon were unable to battle. While I am unable to speak for your past history, it is unreasonable to blame yourself for what was, in essence, a stroke of misfortune."

"Yeah. Without the two pokémon who always b-bail me out, I'm useless."

 _I really, really don't like where this is going._

"Having certain pokémon more powerful than your others isn't unus-"

"BUT I DIDN'T TRAIN THEM."

For a moment, I thought she expected an answer, but she continued unprompted.

"Versailles and Eclipse... They were already strong when-when they joined up with me... I-I can't even say 'caught', since I didn't have to fight them."

I remained silent as she stopped trying to hold back the waterworks.

 _Best just to let her vent...I guess?_

"Every time. Every time I'm in t-trouble, one of them saves me. I just... I'm just an anchor they're pulling around. I screwed up getting sent here to this place, I screwed up earning money for a ticket home, I screwed up helping out Solomon's trainer, all I can do is screw up. Every time I meet up with Jack, I just watch as I get beaten over and over despite how hard Eclipse tries and it's taken me an entire six months just to get four badges and then there's how much I screwed up with-"

 _-Wait-_

"Woah, woah, hang on. How many badges did you say?"

She sniffed.

"Only f-four."

"Okay, my apologies, but there's nothing 'only' about four badges in six months as a trainer. Personally, it took over two years from the day I obtained my license for me to see my first badge, and another year to earn my next three-"

"Seriously?"

I gave her a pointed look.

 _Nah, I'm lying to make myself look worse._

"Yes. I was not the most naturally talented trainer. But in any case, that is not even especially slow. I've heard of trainers who spend a decade training without seeing one, and there are many who quit well before that. Four badges in six months without help, regardless of region, is-is an absurd rate. And if the gym leaders you were up against decided to actively award you those badges, they had to have seen something in you. If they thought you were cheating, or that your pokémon were inordinately well trained for how you were acting, they're well within their rights to withhold your badge."

She looked up at me, tears still dripping down her face.

"Do you-do really think I'm actually good?"

 _Weeeeeell...No, but you're actively 'terrible', if that helps?_

I most definitely kept that particular evil inside Pandora's box.

"You're not a bad trainer, okay? Look, I know it might seem odd to think, but six months is nothing as a trainer. I know you probably think it's an eternity, but trust me. The reason why you feel like things are changing slowly is because you've only just started. And I know the loss earlier was probably hard, but here's the thing. I've been battling for fourteen years at this point, and I've been learning about training since I could walk. I mean, I get that it's cold comfort, but there's gym leaders out there who wouldn't have fared much better against me."

 _Maybe a bit of a white lie; does it count if there's only two?_

"It's really strange for me to be saying this, since I'm not exactly an old man, especially by trainers' standards, but you're still very young. You've barely started. Sure, you might have received a _slight_ boost from your Mew, but that doesn't mean you're 'useless'. That you attracted the attention of two pokémon as innately powerful as the ones on your belt is a demonstration that you have some kind positive traits to your name."

 _I really wish I could just send out Don and have him do this. He's the one with the experience._

"Look, Miss Samantha, I know-"

"Please."

She looked up and wiped off her eyes with the back of her arm.

"Please call me Sammy. I hate it when people call me Samantha."

 _Ugh, abbreviated names. Fine. For the girl who's crying._

"Fine, Sammy. I know you probably think you're trapped; you look at your pokémon and you don't want to order them, because you don't have the experience for super complex strategy, and you don't want to put your pokémon through the tougher kind of training-"

"I-I don't want to be mean to my friends. I don't like it when people treat pokémon badly."

 _How do they put it? 'Oh darlin''?_

"There's a line, most definitely, but if you can't stomach actively training your pokémon and perhaps putting a little strain on them, either you're destined to eventually drop out of training, or you're a hypocrite of the highest calibre-"

She shot me an angry, hurt glare. I made the universal 'stop' motion.

"Let me finish. If you can't handle putting your pokémon in tough situations, you're eventually going to run into a brick wall where any trainer you fight will qualify as a 'tough situation' and you'll either become steeped in doublethink, where you think it's entirely the other trainer's fault that your pokémon's hurt, or you'll be unable to watch and then you're done for. If you just want friends...Then why are you doing this? You don't need to travel to catch pokémon who want to be friends, and you don't need to force your pokémon to fight."

Her expression took a turn for the pensive. We just waited there for a couple minutes, as I allowed her some time with her thoughts. I'd just dumped a small pool of information on her. I had no doubts she wouldn't absorb most of it; it'd taken me years to figure it out myself. Nonetheless, it was a bunch of lessons she'd have to learn at some point.

"I...I want to be a trainer. I want to travel. To battle gym leaders and earn badges. I...I can't explain exactly why, but it's... A dream of mine."

I nodded. My own reasons for becoming a trainer hadn't been particularly noble. With how hard the media liked to push the dream of being a pokémon trainer... I couldn't fault her for it. Statement of intent complete, she went silent again.

Eventually, she spoke up once more.

"How do you do it?"

I blinked.

"Do what?"

"Have so many powerful pokémon."

I chuckled.

"I trained. Long and hard. Don, my Honchkrow, has been with me for the entire fourteen years. It took me a long time to figure out what I was good at; I'm no good at catching pokémon, and I'm not so good at making them listen to me, but I know how to train them, and I know how they're meant to fight."

She again wiped away the last few tears and stood back up, bracing herself against the table.

"Could you...Could you help me a bit? I want to be a strong trainer. Not just a trainer who happens to have strong pokémon."

I probably shouldn't have been so caught off guard, all things considered, but I was. I looked at her for a moment, slightly perplexed, then I absorbed her question. I mulled over it for a moment. And then another moment. I folded my arms and unfolded them, before shoving my hands in my pockets to keep myself from fidgeting. In the end, I think the thing that persuaded me was how she said it.

A 'strong trainer'.

 _If you every find out what that means, let me know._

"I'm not going to be a miracle cure, you realise. It's something that will take a lot of work, especially if you don't want to rely on that Mew of yours."

She nodded, her expression set with what one might tentatively call 'grim determination'.

I took a deep, centring breath that eventually morphed into a sigh.

"Pokémon centre, nine o'clock tomorrow."

She nodded, a small, uncertain smile gracing her lips, and wandered off ( _she may have waved goodbye, and I may have absently waved back_ ), leaving me alone with my thoughts.

 _Well, I definitely gave more answers than I received there... I guess I never really specified_ _ **who**_ _I would've appreciated the answers from. Hah._

 _Now, there's only one last question that can be answered._

 _..._

I poked my head back out into the main diner.

"It isn't too late for coffee and cake, is it?"


End file.
